The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (13 page)

Aran smiled
too, his hand lifting in farewell, “Ride a safe road Bini, may
Andur shield you from all harm.”

He watched the
warriors leave and when they were gone, turned to Darven and shook
his head, “I only hope Maran is right when he says they will soon
see the Raven’s flight. If it does not happen we will sorely feel
their lack when it comes to a battle.”

Wolf Leader
Darven put down the piece of paper detailing the inventory of the
Keep’s weapons and nodded. “Sire, we will be riding out soon. If
they are to join us then they must meet up with us on the
road.”

Aran picked up
another of the papers showing information about the Sentinal
garrison then put it down distractedly, “They know our proposed
route. How soon will it take them to ride back to their
leaders?”

Darven looked
across at his young king and shrugged, “In truth Sire, I know not,
a week, perhaps a fortnight at the latest. They will ride with all
possible speed.”

Aran stared at
the far wall and gnawed his bottom lip, “I was advised that the
SpiritDreamer camped with them here. Yet he never showed his face
or came to see me. Are they always so secretive?”

Darven
shrugged again, “Sire, I understand the plainspeople have many
spiritdreamers amongst their clans. Perhaps the one that came here
was not the SpiritDreamer, but one who holds a lesser rank. One who
has no business or allowance to fraternize with other people?”

Aran nodded
contemplatively, “That may explain it. I do like Bini Stardreamer.
He of all the warriors I would be glad to see again.”

The Wolf
Leader grinned, “Aye Sire, you have made a friend there. I
understand that a friendship formed with a warrior is one that is
regarded as sacred. Bini will consider himself your friend for
life.”

Aran shuffled
the many papers in front of him, “How do you see our preparedness
Darven? Are we yet ready to ride to war?”

Darven scanned
the scrolls and papers and shook his head, “Sire, we have not yet
heard from the small garrisons based at Anderere and Andromach. So
far we have received word from Haulgard, Sentinal, Leigh and the
towns to the north of us and on the banks of the Titan River. The
messengers are still on their way from the far southern towns.” He
looked up at Aran, “Sire we cannot afford to march without these
additional troops. Be patient my lord, we should have word by
mid-week.”

Aran scratched
his head ruefully, “They know we are to all assemble at Leigh at
month’s end. I would rather quit this place sooner as I don’t know
how long it will take us to get there.”

Darven put
down yet another parchment and smiled, “Do not worry my lord king.
We are all mounted and will make good time. It is the foot soldiers
of the Legions that will need to hurry themselves to meet our time
and place.”

Aran nodded,
“We have given them all good warning.”

He turned back
to Darven with a frown, “Have we any more information about the
Thakur? Are their armies still continuing to gather?”

Darven
rummaged through the scrolls, and finally fished one out of the
pile on the high table. “This is the latest information Sire, from
the Earthmages flying over the borders.”

Aran took the
scroll from his friend and carefully scanned it. “There is no
change then from last week, like us they seem to be waiting for the
remainder of their army to gather.”

“Aye Sire,
they seem to be in no great hurry, which means that their
intelligence is yet to inform them of our own mobilisation.”

Aran sat back
with a sigh, “Thank Andur for the Earthmages and their
transformations. If we didn’t have their reports we would be
woefully advised and ill-prepared, and in no fit state to ride to
war.”

Darven nodded,
“They will learn soon enough of our preparations Sire. I too wish
that we could be on the road sooner, to catch them napping as if
were, but we are dependent on our army being at full strength, and
until we get word from the south we cannot move.”

Aran steepled
his fingers together and regarded the shape it made. “We are as
prepared as we are likely to be, but it is a great pity we have to
wait.”

“When will you
speak to the Council about Alissa, Sire?” asked Darven, changing
the subject. “It has been two days now since your coronation. Will
you speak to them before we ride?”

Aran frowned
and nodded. He was not looking forward to his confrontation with
the Councillors, and found himself putting it off hour by hour,
trying to delay the awkward meeting. “I will have to speak to
them,” he mused aloud.

There had been
a large feast the night of the coronation and Aran had been looking
forward to having Alissa sit on his right hand at the high table.
However the Councillors had been there before him, and coming to
the table he found to his dismay that the Councillor’s candidate
had been foisted on him as his companion for the feast.

“I’d hate to
hurt her feelings Darven,” Aran mused, thinking about the girl the
Council had chosen as Queen candidate. “I mean she really is such a
quiet, timid little thing. She has none of Alissa’s fire or
brilliance.”

“What is her
name, Sire?” asked Darven wonderingly.

Aran laughed,
“Would you believe it. I’ve forgotten entirely.”

Darven smiled
and shook his head, “She does not sound like she would be a
suitable Queen, Sire.”

“I agree. We
are going into war and I need someone strong and reliable by my
side. Not a timid little nothing that would faint at the first
suggestion of battle.”

Darven neatly
gathered the scrolls in his arms, stood and bowed his head. “Then
Aran,” he grinned with a return to his customary relaxed speech. “I
would advise that you see the Council this very day, before they
get too accustomed to the idea of their own candidate becoming your
queen.”

Aran looked up
and his face wore a pained smile, “Aye…I guess I must.”

*

“How should I
see them?” Aran asked anxiously. “Enthroned, or in the Great
Hall?”

Maran stared
into the fire, “That’s a difficult question. If you receive the
Councillors in the throne room you will certainly give the
impression that you are serious about this and will tolerate no
opposition. However it may put you out of favour if you go about it
with the full authority of kingship. It’s a very delicate
matter.”

Aran put his
hands in his head, “I know, I know…I’ve been trying to work a way
around this issue all morning,” he lamented.

“On the other
hand,” added the Archmage, “If you receive them casually in the
great hall it may give the impression that you think that this is a
light matter…worthy of no great occasion.”

Aran looked up
at the Archmage, “That crossed my mind too. However what other
option do I have?”

Maran frowned
then a fleeting smile crossed his lips, “I think you should receive
them here, in your private hall. It is intimate, private, but it
speaks heavily of the Andurian line of kings and queens that have
resided here. It has the degree of ceremony that you will need to
remind them exactly who you are and of which lineage you are
descended.”

Aran looked
about the hall with new eyes, “Yes…of course. Shall I call for them
now?”

Maran nodded,
“May as well. I’ll sit back and watch…” he stared at the young
king, “This is your fight Arantur. My presence will show my support
in this, but it has to be your words to win them across. Remember,
the result we want is for the Council to support Alissa as Queen.
We cannot afford to get them off-side, especially not with this war
coming on at us.”

Aran grimaced,
“I will be as diplomatic as I can, given the circumstances.”

Maran stood,
“Then I will fetch them.” He chuckled mirthlessly, “I dare say they
will come at once for they have been on my back for a private
audience with you for the past twenty-four hours…”

Aran stood and
looked out the window, “Should Alissa be here?”

Maran shook
his head, “No, leave her out of it. She will only be an unnecessary
focus for their anger and disappointment.”

“What about
their Candidate?”

“Terea?”

“Aye, her, I
keep forgetting the girl’s name.”

Maran laughed
sourly, “A remarkable girl, remarkable in her ability to be so
forgettable.” Then the Archmage’s face tightened, “No…she will not
be invited to this audience. It will be hard enough for you to
retain the decorum of the meeting without that girl’s emotions and
hysterics getting in the way.”

*

Aran
rearranged the chairs in his private hall for the third time in as
many minutes, nervously trying to create the correct atmosphere for
this most difficult of meetings. Glumly he knew that although he
was now king, he still had a long way to go in order to earn the
people’s respect and admiration. Aran was certain that whatever
came to pass in this private meeting would soon be circulating
around Andur’s Keep in a matter of hours, and most likely be across
the province in a matter of weeks. Aran knew that his character and
disposition would be scrutinised carefully today by the
Councillors, and it would be a long climb back to favour if he
failed to achieve some kind of reconciliation with these men and
women. Suddenly there was a brief knock upon the door and Archmage
Maran stuck his head in.

“Are you ready
Sire?”

Aran nodded,
and quickly sat down on one of the chairs which he had arranged
into a small circle in the centre of the hall.

Glancing over
at the door, he watched as the black robed Councillors file in. As
soon as they saw him they bowed their heads and murmured “Sire” or
“My lord king”, but it was obvious that none of them had been
inside the royal chambers, and all were curiously looking about
them. The Archmage smiled reassuringly at Aran and took the seat
immediately on Aran’s right.

“Welcome to
the King’s Hall,” Aran said briefly, “Please make yourselves
comfortable, there are chairs provided.”

Quickly they
sat down, waiting wordlessly for him to speak.

“My lords and
ladies of the Council, I have asked you to come here because we
need to discuss the matter of choosing a Queen for the Province, my
future consort.”

Aran saw them
nod and smile.

“I understand
that you have already put forward a Candidate for this role.”

A large florid
man stood up, “Yes my lord king. My daughter Terea…you met her at
the feast.”

Aran nodded
and motioned for the Councillor to sit.

“I have given
this matter much weighty thought, and would first like to hear why
you as a Council believe this girl is the one most suited over all
to be my Queen.”

Another
Councillor, a small greying man with an elaborately waxed beard
stood. “Sire, if you would allow me. I would like to speak on
behalf of all the Council.”

Aran
nodded.

“My lord
king,” the Councillor began, “It has been long standing tradition
for the line of Andur to choose their spouses and consorts from
either within the ranks of the Council or from the Old Families of
Haulgard. This is done to join Andur’s Keep with the capital of the
Province, Haulgard Port.” He smiled and Aran indicated that he
should continue.

“Sire, when we
received word about your imminent coronation we searched our ranks
and Haulgard’s Old Families for an unwed woman of suitable birth,
breeding and quality…”

Aran’s mouth
hardened, it sounded like the Council was discussing a prime brood
mare for mating.

“All except
one were found wanting. Most were not of a compatible age. Some
were ugly or had an unpleasant disposition, and some even were
found not to be maidens. Only young Terea measured up to all these
exacting requirements and so she was selected.”

Aran nodded
his understanding, “My lord Councillor, you speak of her as young
Terea. What is her exact age?”

The Councillor
glanced at his companions, “Sire, she is but lately turned
fourteen.”

Aran felt
Maran’s start of surprise by his side.

“Fourteen?”
Aran’s mouth hardened even further, “Isn’t that a little young to
be married?”

The Councillor
stared uncomfortably at Aran, “Sire, all who were older were no
longer maidens. Besides it is common practice amongst the nobility
to betroth their children at a young age.”

Aran stared at
the Councillor, warring emotions written plainly upon his face, “My
lord Councillor, have you anything further to say?”

The black
garbed man shook his head, then bowed and sat down.

Aran took a
deep breath, and then let it out, “My lords and ladies of the
Council, I have heard you out but I must say now that I cannot in
all faith and honesty accept your Candidate as Queen.” Aran watched
the frantic looks and growing anger move across the faces of the
Councillors.

“Your
Candidate Terea sounds like a lovely girl, and I would have
accepted her but for several heavy reasons….”

The florid
faced Councillor Ordac, who was her father stood up, “My lord, she
is without blemish. She is kind and virtuous…”

Aran shot the
florid man a look of censure that immediately sat him down without
a further word.

“If you will
permit me, I will tell you why I cannot accept your Candidate.”

The
Councillors glanced at one another and the greying man who seemed
to be their spokesmen, nodded.

“Good!” Aran
stated his lips a hard line, “Firstly, you may be aware I am the
last living Warriormage and am also a Metalmage.”

The
Councillors nodded grimly.

Aran waited
for their attention then continued on, “Since discovering I possess
these Abilities and after living with them, I believe that I can
only marry another mage or one who has a latent Ability. Thus my
Queen must be one who shares and understands the complications and
demands of possessing a mage Ability.” Aran stared at the Council.
Wordlessly they gazed back.